


My Riechenbach Hero

by Sherlockian_Vortex



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Johnlock - Freeform, Other, Sherlock - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-25
Updated: 2013-10-25
Packaged: 2017-12-30 11:32:53
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 271
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1018109
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sherlockian_Vortex/pseuds/Sherlockian_Vortex
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Just a short little poem because of feels...</p>
            </blockquote>





	My Riechenbach Hero

You told me once that you weren't a hero.  
But I disagree.  
You've saved my life  
time  
after  
time  
which makes you a hero to me.

Moriarty has been laid to rest.  
Your name has been cleared.  
And I've prayed to heaven every night  
for your safe return.  
"Please God... let him live."  
But...you're still not here.  
You're not here.

I've waited for you.  
I've visited your grave,  
far too many times.  
I've finished your experiments,  
recording the results  
(to the best of my abilities).

I make you tea every time  
the kettle's on.  
And there are mugs lying around  
half filled with cold tea  
all around the flat.  
But... you're still not here.  
You're not here.

Now I stand by your grave,  
it's only fitting for me  
to die by your side.  
And it's only fitting  
for a soldier to end

with one clean bullet  
shot through his head.  
It's been three years,  
and I can't go another day.  
So it's time I've gone to you.  
Because... you're still not here.  
You're not here. 

The safety's off.  
The gun is loaded.  
The cold press of metal  
against the temple of a  
love-lost man.

My finger's on the trigger  
ready to pull.  
My eyes are shut  
picturing your image.  
Picturing that you're still here.  
But... you're not here.  
You're not here.

A silent count down in my mind.  
3...  
2...  
1-  
The gun is ripped out  
of my cold hands,  
just before the trigger was pulled.

Familiar hands  
hug tight around my torso,  
unwilling to let go.  
A warm breath against my ear  
confirmed:  
"John... I'm still here.  
I'm here."


End file.
